Hemingway’s Chair

already
greying, he looked older. Martin noted with concern that he had a lazy left eye
which didn’t appear to focus on anyone. In Martin’s delicately anxious state
this cast some doubt on the accuracy of the warm smile he’d received earlier.
Perhaps it had not been meant for him at all. The man cleared his throat and
began.
    ‘Ladies
and gentlemen, before we all get on with this wonderful dinner I would like to
say a few words on behalf of Post Office Counter Services Limited, and how
proud we are to have been Ernie Padgett’s employers for so long.’
    Martin
snorted sarcastically — Padge would have joined the Post Office almost before
the man was born. ‘My name is Maurice Vickers and I’m the Development Officer
for the South-East Region, and I’m sure many of you will be familiar with John
Devereux, the Area Co-ordinator.’
    Devereux
was an older man, built like a tank, with thinning dark hair and crafty little
eyes. Not a man to be familiar with, thought Martin, as polite applause
trickled away. Hard and uncommunicative in Martin’s experience, given the
inspections he was wont to spring, unannounced, on the staff at North Square, I
‘We would like to add our own thanks to those already expressed today,’ Maurice
Vickers continued. ‘Ernest has been a tower of strength here in Theston, and we
would like to present him with a token of our-; appreciation. It’s not a gold
watch, because that’s not the way we do things nowadays, and who wants to watch
time pass anyway?’
    He
motioned to the youngest of his party. He was in his late twenties, blond,
lean, agile, well kept. Maureen Rawlings thought him the most beautiful man
she’d seen in Theston for a long time. A box was handed over and Vickers
continued talking as he removed the top' and pulled aside protective tissue
paper.
    ‘This
is a solid silver replica of our brand new Post Office Counter Services logo,
designed in Peterborough, custom moulded in Sweden, and I’m delighted today to
be able to present it to you, Ernest Padgett, in recognition of forty-eight
years’ unbroken service for Theston and the Post Office.’
    Devereux
and the boy applauded enthusiastically. Ernie Padgett gazed uncertainly at the
heavy object, an interesting, if ultimately unsuccessful, attempt tofashion a symbol of power, energy and momentum from the
letters POCS.
    ‘Melt
it down, Padge!’ shouted a voice from the off-licence crowd, for once totally
in tune with the feeling of the meeting. A roar of laughter filled the hall.
Vickers gave a show of a smile. There wasn’t much else he could do. Martin felt
a touch sorry for him. Eventually they calmed down and Vickers adopted a
serious manner.
    ‘Now
many of you, I know, are worried about the future. You’re worried about whether
your post office will still have a role to play in a changing world
    Martin
moistened his lips. His mouth was very dry.
    ‘Well,
I can assure you, the new-look Post Office will certainly not be turning its
back on Theston. In fact I can tell you all today that we have plans for
Theston, big plans. Plans to create a brighter, faster, more efficient
operation, giving all our customers the best in modern communications as we
approach the millennium.’
    ‘Half
these people won’t live to see the millennium,’ Mrs Harvey-Wardrell observed
piercingly from the back.
    ‘Quite
simply we want our customers in Theston to have the best.’
    Martin
felt a giddy surge of elation arise, unbidden.
    ‘And
to show we mean what we say, we are transferring to Theston one of our ablest
young men, Nick Marshall.’ He indicated the young Adonis beside him. Martin
experienced total collapse of the stomach. The words seemed to drift away from
him, as if he were Watching the whole thing from an enormous distance.
    As
your new Manager he will oversee the task of setting up and administering the
new office, working closely of course with…’ and here he consulted his notes
for the first time, ‘the present Assistant Manager, Martin Sproale, to provide
continuity during these exciting times. Believe me, Theston will truly have its
part to play in the fast developing future of our network. Thank you.’

Four
     
     
     
    The
next day was a Saturday and the post office closed at one o’clock. Martin
needed not to feel sorry for himself, and after locking up he opted out of the
usual lunchtime drink and cycled six miles inland to Arnold Julian’s
second-hand bookshop in the town of Atcham. Since